


The Devil You Don't...

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Red Dwarf, The X-Files
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-10-25
Updated: 2000-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 21:50:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red Dwarf/X-Files crossover; Kochanski encounters one of the XF MOTWs. 'Irresistible' and 'Orison' were the two episodes of X Files which absolutely terrified me, and since I had a nightmare recently where Donnie was chasing me through Red Dwarf, I thought why not combine the two? The scariest part is that Donnie is so typically guy-next-door, apart from the death fetishism of course, and so it could be anyone...</p><p>Trust no one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil You Don't...

**Author's Note:**

> Red Dwarf characters belong to Grant Naylor. Donnie Pfaster belongs to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.

He was well-dressed; that was the first thing she noticed.

_Tim_, she reminded herself, and turned back to her drink.

But bare seconds later she found her gaze wandering back in his direction. He was tall, with sleek dark hair and mesmerising blue eyes. He fiddled with his tie as if he wasn't used to wearing one: the gaily-patterned material also made it seem incongruous. He looked like the stereotype of the guy next door -- wife, two kids and washes the car on weekends. Except he wasn't wearing a wedding band on those fine-fingered hands.

He caught her watching him, and smiled. The smile appeared predatory, a biting smile. Then the light from the disco floor fell more squarely across his face and he was just smiling normally. She returned the smile hesitantly, then started stacking peanut shells on the bar.

'Excuse me. Is this seat taken?' He was standing beside the stool next to her, a shy look on his face. She considered telling him to go away, but simply shook her head and watched as he sat down, setting his drink on the bar in front of him. He was drinking Scotch on the rocks, and the glass looked awfully alone when compared with her stockpile of empty glasses and peanut dishes.

'Are you alone tonight?'

Kochanski nodded vaguely. 'Just broke up with my boyfriend,' she said. The last time she had seen Dave was two hours ago. He had been running for the shuttle for planet leave on Mimas, and refused to meet her eyes as he passed her on the way to the landing bay.

The stranger shook his head sympathetically. 'The end of a relationship is always a sad thing,' he said, reaching out and covering her hand with one of his. His thumb moved restlessly, stroking the soft skin on the back of her hand. Around them, the sounds of the disco went on: the Arcadia was packed tonight. But for Kochanski, all her attention was suddenly focused on this stranger.

_What the hell. One night can't hurt,_ she thought. It was a throwback to her old self, her 'that-was-great-thank-you-mate' attitude, when her one objective in life had been to see if she could pick up a different guy for each night of the week.

'Yes, it is,' she said aloud. 'I hate to hurt people like that.' She gave him her best I'm-coping-but-just-barely smile. The wavery one which just begged for comfort. 'What's your name?'

'Donnie. Donnie Pfaster. I work in Services,' he said.

'Donnie,' Kochanski said, trying the name on her tongue. It fit perfectly, like his hand over hers. 'I'm Kristine Kochanski.'

'I know who you are,' Donnie said gravely. Kochanski gave him a wary look and he smiled again. 'Everyone knows of you, our excellent navigator. May I say, for someone who works at a computer all day, you have very nicely manicured nails?' He touched the tip of her right index finger with his and she felt a shiver go down her spine.

'Th-thank you,' she stammered, and his smile grew wider.

* * *

They danced, later, when the floor was almost completely clear. He held her close, moving with sure steps, and she realised how close she was to completely forgetting about Tim.

The thought brought a momentary pang of guilt, but when she looked up to say something to Donnie, and his eyes looked down gravely at her, she knew that it didn't matter. She knew, and she was comforted by the thought.

Would Barbara be in their quarters tonight? Kochanski wasn't sure. Her roommate dated erratically, and might be anywhere. But then Donnie leaned down and whispered, 'Do you want to come back to my quarters?' and she knew it didn't matter.

* * *

The end of the passage was half-dark, with the muted jingle of keys as Donnie searched for his keycard. Besides voice access, the cards were the only other way to enter the rooms. Kochanski wondered briefly why Donnie didn't just voice-ac the door, but then he found the card and swiped it, pushing the door open just a crack, and she found out.

He had had one hand free, and with that hand he grabbed her upper arm and shoved her roughly into the room. Kochanski stumbled and fell, a loud _crack_ announcing the breaking of her left arm, which she threw out to try and catch herself with. She cried out in pain and fear, and then the tiny slit of light from the doorway vanished and she was locked in with Donnie.

'Pretty, pretty Kochanski, with her pretty hair and her soft smooth skin -- they talk about you all over the ship, from Supplies to the Drive Room to the kitchens, you know?' Donnie's voice was ragged in the dark, but had a strange tone to it. He was laughing.

Holding her broken arm to her side -- she just _had _to lose her smart hand, didn't she? - Kochanski got to her feet as silently as she could and moved around the room towards where the bunks should be. There would be a fire extinguisher there, and she could hit him with it.

'Lights!' she ordered, hoping her voice wouldn't lead him to her. There was a soft rush of footsteps, but she ducked away quickly and felt him brush by her. He cursed and turned back, but she was already gone.

Why oh why weren't the damn lights coming on? Had he deactivated the voice access to the room, or what? And why?

There was a tiny snapping sound from near the bunks, and the room was suddenly bathed in the glow of a strange red light. Looking around her, Kochanski could suddenly see why Donnie had had the voice-ac switched off.

The place was a hellhole.

She had noticed the bad smell as soon as he pushed her in, but it hadn't really registered. It was the evil smell of formaldehyde, that strange chemical used to preserve bodily organs, or dead bodies. In this case, she could see what it was preserving. Rows of jars ringed the room, and floating serenely in each one was a finger, or a hand, or an eye. The eyes were staring down at her, as she sobbed in pain and tried to think of a way out of this.

'There's no way out, girly-girl,' Donnie said placidly, seeing Kochanski's frantic eyes flit around the room. He crossed to the living area and picked up a razor sharp butcher's knife from the table. 'The throat first, then the fingers. And... yes. I like your hair.'

Kochanski screamed incoherently as he came towards her, and backed away. But he passed her, momentarily oblivious to her, and headed for the rudimentary bathroom. In the officers' quarters the bathrooms were fairly big, if lacking in actual bathtubs, but down here the bathroom consisted of a basin and a shower affixed to the wall in a small cubicle. Donnie turned the shower on and stood watching her, one hand held under the spray, waiting for the temperature to regulate.

'Wh-what are you doing?' Kochanski stuttered.

'Running a shower.' He came out of the cubicle and suddenly lifted the knife to his own throat. Kochanski willed him to stab himself or something, but all he did was slice through the tie and toss it carelessly onto the bunk. Kochanski backed away again, but again he wasn't coming after her. Instead, he went to the storage lockers near the door, finding his way flawlessly despite the dim light, and opened one.

'Would you say your hair is oily, or dry?' he asked.

'What?'

He looked levelly at her, then came over and reached out. Kochanski cringed away from him, but he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked on it, running his fingers through it critically. Kochanski screamed in pain. Dammit, wasn't there anyone else on this floor? Someone who would hear her? She filled her lungs and screamed again, this time for help.

'Nobody's gonna come, girly-girl...' He retreated to the lockers and started pulling out bottles. Even in the dim light Kochanski could recognise them for what they were. What the hell was he doing with a stockpile of JMC shampoo bottles? She kept screaming, her throat already starting to hurt.

Oh, Christ.

He was one of those psychos who liked to take trophies. And he was really going to kill her -- at least, if she didn't do something.

Kristine Kochanski had been taking jujitsu lessons from the age of twelve. Now she was going to have to use all twelve years of experience and kick this guy's butt. She readied herself as he crossed the room back to the shower, depositing an armful of bottles on the cubicle floor. When he got close enough, she was gonna kick him in the nuts.

There was a soft phut! noise and a stinging pain in the side of her neck. She looked up to see Donnie, his eyes expressionless, watching her over the barrel of a tranquilliser gun. Kochanski's fingers fluttered over the dart lodged in the side of her neck before her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed gracelessly onto the floor.

'Troublemaker,' Donnie said to her unconscious body, and tutted.

* * *

The pain was red and flashing and all around her. She wanted to go back to the black place, but the door had closed behind her. She could smell the heavy floral scent of the JMC shampoo. She could hear the soft footsteps of her captor, and humming. He was humming Joshua Kadison's 'Beautiful In My Eyes'. She'd never be able to listen to it again. Assuming she survived.

Kochanski opened her eyes, the pain pressing heavily on them. Then she remembered that the light had been red anyway. She was slumped on the floor on the shower, a towel thrown indifferently over her body. Her hands were whole: they flew to her hair, which seemed to be all there. God, what a nightmare.

'Awake, girly-girl?' Donnie asked conciliatorily, crouching beside her and touching her hair. It had air-dried beautifully. The brown was flecked with gold. 'You look very pretty.'

'Get away from me, you monster,' Kochanski grated.

Donnie grinned, and this time there was no change of light to soften it. It was evilly hard, unforgiving, demonic. In that moment he seemed to change, shapeshifting into some kind of monster.

She blinked, and it was gone.

Blinked again, and he was running the point of the knife along under her throat. She tried to push it away, but only succeeded in getting a cut across the palm of her hand. Her left arm was screaming, and now her right hand was trying to outdo it. The lips of the cut gaped open, the raw red meat of her hand with blood welling from it lying bare to anything. The same as she was below the towel, she realised.

She prayed he hadn't done anything but wash her hair. As far as she could tell, he hadn't. At least, it didn't feel that way. There wasn't that sense of emptiness she usually had after making love to someone - not that you'd call this love of any kind, of course. Just a crude lust for the beautiful.

'It's nearly time, girly-girl,' Donnie said exultantly. His eyes gleamed with a childlike fervour as he tapped the knife lightly against the palm of his left hand. He smiled and she spat in his face. He kept smiling, making no move to wipe it off.

The water still pattered down a metre away. The blood from her cut hand was tracing a path to the drain, and Kochanski was mesmerised by it -- for a moment.

_He wants _all_ my blood to go down there!_ she thought, and the thought spurred her to action.

With a wild yell, drawing the last bit of breath from her lungs, she drew her feet up then lashed out in a double kick, knocking Donnie backwards. He splashed down onto the puddled cubicle floor, and Kochanski scrambled to her feet and dove past him. Donnie caught her ankle and brought her crashing onto the floor, a startled grunt coming from both of them.

She still had the towel half-tucked around her, and whipped it into a rat-tail, never mind being naked, he'd already seen her if he'd undressed her, and who else would've done it if not him? She lashed out with the towel and it caught him across the face, eliciting a yelp of pain then a hiss of fury.

'Dammit!'

And if he caught her now, he wasn't going to be careful of her hair.

Kochanski scrambled for the bunk, hands running along the wall, trying to find the fire extinguisher she knew had to be there. Her hands slid along a row of cylinder-shapes and she hesitated before realising they were his grisly trophies. Grab and throw. Smash. She'd missed, but never mind, there were plenty more.

She hit him in the head on her third try, and it was close. Where he lay on the floor was a bare metre away from her. The next jar would've been too late.

'Sorry, sorry,' she muttered, hoping that the spirits of the dead girls he had stolen from could hear her, then blacked out into a dead faint.

* * *

He was gone when she woke up. And she couldn't move her hands. They were tied to the towel rail with one of the towels. Another towel was wrapped around her torso, barely covering all that needed to be covered. Her throat hurt like a mad bastard.

The mad bastard himself was presently in the shower cubicle again, and humming again. Same song. Same patter-patter of water as backing music. He was dragging something into position -- a chair maybe? Whatever it was, Kochanski didn't want to find out. Even the most fiendishly tied knot in a towel had to be undoable. She decided to try it.

Donnie hummed to himself as he prepared everything. He had his hairdresser's scissors, and would cut her hair first. If he let her bleed, it might get into her hair. Then he would sit her down on the stool, make her lean back, and cut her throat. The blood would just disappear down the drain, and later that night her body would just disappear down a Waste Disposal Unit or two, bit by bit.

He smiled to himself. She was feisty, a fighter. He liked the fighters, even when they hurt him. It made things more interesting.

Donnie entered his living quarters, staring at the woman. She was standing by the towel rail near the shower, hands behind her back, but something had changed. He just had time to see the towel lying on the floor beside her feet before she charged. 'This time!' she yelled, leaping and kicking. Donnie felt her foot impact with his jaw, and heard something snap in his chin. His mouth was suddenly flooded with the coppery taste of blood.

'No! This isn't how it goes!' he yelled, but the words came out wrong, and she only screamed and kicked him again. He fell back, hands held out in supplication, but none came from the merciless woman.

She was still kicking him when the cavalry arrived.

* * *

_One week later..._

'...this courts finds Donald Edward Pfaster guilty of forty-two counts of first-degree murder, and hereby sentences him to serve forty-two consecutive life sentences, without chance of parole. Case closed.' The judge's gavel banged, and Kochanski's roommate Barbara squeezed her hand tightly, offering her congratulations.

Kochanski couldn't pay attention. Donnie was being walked -- hustled, really -- up the centre aisle of the small courtroom by two policemen. As he passed he smiled at her, and his whisper was audible to the whole court:

'I'll get you yet, girly-girl.'


End file.
